by Jill Jaynes
Very few facts were known about MM, who had arrived in town two weeks ago, but the scarcity of details only fueled the rumor mill. The ladies at the Scissor Happy Salon speculated he was CIA on secret surveillance. Lily from The Lily Pad bistro thought he might be newly divorced and nursing a broken heart. Well, Maggie was going to find out. She was born a newshound, and her sensitive nose was twitching. There could be a breaking story here, one that could sell a ton of newspapers.
She grabbed her bulging tote bag and hurried out the door. MM had disappeared but she knew where he was headed—The Honey Bee Coffeehouse. Rumor had it he could be found there most mornings in one of the corner booths brooding over a cup of joe and his cell phone. She couldn’t wait to see him up close.
Maggie breathed in the tangy salt air sailing in on the ocean breeze—so fresh, so uplifting. She let the promise of another gloriously warm June day chase away any thoughts of impending financial disaster. As she reached the coffeehouse door, the tickly sneeze caught up to her. Bless you, she thought. Finally. The intense relief was as close to an orgasm as she’d gotten for months or was going to get in the foreseeable future. Maggie savored the moment.
Once inside, she waved to the Moonlighters Book Club members who sat at a round table at the back. The two ladies and one man all waved, then resumed talking in low tones. She glanced at the man in the corner booth by the front window before lining up at the counter. MM had his coffee but was reading a paper, not his cell phone.
OMG! My paper. He’s reading the Moonlight Cove Gazette.
Why her heart banged against her ribs, Maggie had no idea. Wasn’t that why she published newspapers? To be purchased and read? Well, at least she had her icebreaker.
“Your usual?” Chloe asked.
“Oh, hi, Chloe.” Maggie urged her nerves to settle down. “Yes, Arabica. Straight up to go.” She stole another glance at MM.
Chloe tucked her dark hair behind an ear and leaned closer. “His name is Nick.”
“Nick what?” Maggie whispered.
“Don’t know. Asked him so I could write it on his cup.”
Maggie nodded. Smart girl. Chloe, with her straight, shiny hair and hunter green Honey Bee apron was always so pretty and put together. Unlike herself.
When she had her coffee, she hung her bag on one shoulder, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Maggie approached his booth. “Excuse me. Nick?”
In those short few seconds before he looked up, she took in the New York Yankees logo on his blue cap and his mousy brown hair sticking out at odd angles.
Hmmm. A wig? Yeah. His dark brows don’t match.
He lowered the paper and met her eyes through plain black frames. She could tell right away he was ill. His face was well sculpted, but flushed. Strong chin with at least a five-day growth, a straight nose as red as his bloodshot eyes. Setting his cold symptoms aside, he was ruggedly handsome and looked kind of familiar to her.
No hand shaking today. “I’m Maggie Henderson. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself, to welcome you to the town. I own the Moonlight Cove Gazette.” She nodded at the paper in his hands.
She thought he was going to just stare at her, but then he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.” His voice was raspy.
“Sorry? For what?”
“That this is your paper.”
Maggie blinked. A slow burn licked at the corners of her self-control. Instead of dumping her coffee over his head or bopping him with the I’m-sorry-this-paper, she decided to be the bigger man and find out what he didn’t like. “Can you elaborate?”
“Not enough time.”
“Then let me take this offending rag off your hands.” Maggie snatched the paper from him and stuffed it in her tote, leaving one ragged corner in his fingers. His cell phone tweedled as she wheeled around and stomped to the door, but Andrea from the book club blocked what was going to be her grand exit.
She clutched Maggie’s arm in a death grip. “Maggie, you’re going to want to hear this.”
Andrea dragged her to the club table, where she was forced to lean in to hear their frantic whispers.
“He’s a serial killer.” Dave nodded his head solemnly. Dave was head of the drama club at the local high school, so...
“I’m sure of it. I think I recognize him from America’s Most Wanted.” Hermione tortured a curl of fire-red hair in her fingers while shooting quick glances at MM on his phone. “He’s hiding out there at the lighthouse while he scopes his next victims.”
Maggie blew out an exasperated breath. She picked up the book they’d all been reading this past month. She already knew what it was because she’d used the club and their book list to fill in a good-sized gap on page two of this week’s edition. The very one she’d torn from MM’s loutish hands.
“The Silence of the Lambs.” She looked at each of them. “I suppose if you’d read a Jason Bourne book he’d be a spy with amnesia.”
“Shhh. He’s leaving.” Andrea laid a hand on hers.
Three pairs of eyes followed MM out the door. She refused to look up. A collective sigh rose from the trio when the door closed.
“Listen, I’ll find out who this guy is. He looks familiar to me too, but believe me, he isn’t a serial killer.” At least, she hoped not.
* * *
Two days later, Maggie sat at her kitchen table going over her notes on MM. She was no further ahead at identifying him, although she did know a few more facts about the guy besides him being a rude ignoramus. She’d contacted the out-of-state owners of the Moonlight B&B and found out he’d rented the entire B&B for two months under the name Nick Carraday—all paid in cash. He definitely wasn’t a serial killer, or any kind of a felon. He came highly recommended. That’s all they would divulge. The book club would be disappointed.
Maggie Googled the name and turned up nothing, but figured it was a false name anyway. Just in case the B&B owners were wrong about MM, she talked with Officer Swinton from the MCPD. He did a brief search on the name in his database for California and New York only because she agreed to bake a pie and bring it in. He’d throw in a call to Interpol if she’d go out with him Saturday night. Maggie assured him that wasn’t necessary. Oh, Officer Swinton was nice enough—tall, lean, and who didn’t like a man in uniform? But he didn’t ring any of her rusty chimes. She’d find a way to learn MM’s true identity on her own.
The timer pinged on the stove. Her Swinton apple pie was done as well as a pot of home-made chicken soup. The kitchen smelled like the old days back home in Sunnyside with her mom and dad—homey, loving, and delicious. As an only child, Maggie had been the sole focus of two doting parents. She wanted the same soul-deep bond with a man her mom had found, except she wanted at least four kids. A houseful of joyful noise.
A bell went off in her head. Chicken soup. She’d take him chicken soup for his cold, and maybe stifle the urge to lace it with laxatives.
As a matter of fact, Nick hadn’t been seen in town these past couple of days. Maybe he was sick in bed. She’d be a good citizen and do a wellness check.
Chapter 2
Carter Culhane sat up on the sofa and grabbed another tissue. He blew his nose, adding the damp wad to the pile on the coffee table. His head felt like he’d stuffed all those tissues inside his nose and packed them in with a battering ram.
His stomach growled. Nothing wrong with his appetite. He really should get something to eat, but instead he lay back down on the sofa. He loved this beachy-inspired suite, but so far this getaway to find his muse had been a bust. He’d written maybe five pages in the two and a half weeks he’d been there. Five lousy pages. His deadline loomed like a date with the executioner. Writing seemed harder and harder lately. Maybe it was time to cash out.
He’d picked this place on the California coast from the dozens his assistant had shown him online. The rustic B&B was attached to an actual lighthouse. Waves crashed against rocks. It even came with its own resident black cat a lot like Felix. Damn. He still got misty-eyed t
hinking about Felix’s last days. The place was isolated at the end of a seawall jetty, and since Ivan had secretly rented the entire four-unit B&B for him, he would be ALONE.
His disguise of chestnut wig, black-framed glasses and brown contacts was lame. He’d never let one of his characters try a getup like that. He hoped he hadn’t been made at the coffeehouse the other day.
A book club. Jeez.
And the newsie. He had to admit, Maggie was very—he wouldn’t say beautiful. Unusual. But in a striking way. Great cheekbones. Big brown eyes. Sun-kissed ash blonde hair tied back in a simple, messy ponytail. Maybe pushing thirty. He’d felt a momentary quickening of interest. Bada-bing. She was New York, just like him. He heard it in her voice. Same strong-coffee preference.
Then she said the sad news rag was hers. Bada-boom. His only excuse for being mean was his disappointment that he for sure couldn’t start any relationship with her, a reporter, as irrational as the idea was anyway. And he felt so crummy. And maybe a dozen other reasons he didn’t want to think about right now.
Carter sat up to sip some orange juice. Karma rubbed against his ankle and mewed. “You hungry too? Just a minute.” He blew his nose again. Now he felt worse than ever, and not just physically. He’d been uncharacteristically insulting to the woman. She was only trying to be friendly and he bitten her like a mean dog.
The doorbell sounded.
Christ. What had he been saying about isolation?
“Go away. No solicitors.” What about a closed barrier gate didn’t they get?
Carter tried to make out the muffled words through the thick oak door. Sounded like a woman, and she wasn’t leaving. She knocked.
He got up, grabbed the wig from the table and shoved it on his head. He had no plans to go anywhere today so he hadn’t put in his contacts. He slipped on dark sunglasses to hide his eyes. He still had on his baggy lounge pants and old Yankees t-shirt. He knew he looked rough but he’d hide his body behind the door.
More knocking.
“I’m coming.” His voice squawked like a throttled gull.
He opened the door a crack and peeked out. Maggie what’s-her-name stood on the step, looking so perky, bright and shiny that he was glad for the sunglasses.
“Hi, Nick.” Then she frowned. “Oh, you look terrible.”
“Thanks.” He started to ease the door shut, but she put a foot inside and shouldered her way through. “You know, you are really pushy.”
“Comes with the job.” She shot him a toothy grin.
Carter thought about manhandling her back out the door, but his curiosity got the better of him. Instead, he followed her to the kitchen, where she put a large container on the counter and her huge tote bag on the floor. She stooped to pet Karma, talking to her in one of those cutesy-coo-kitty voices girls use on small, furry creatures. He dragged over a stool and sat down. He quickly scanned the open-concept room to make sure he hadn’t left out anything incriminating. His laptop on the built-in desk by the window was closed. The shelf full of books held only one of his.
She looked him up and down and then shook her head. A half smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I have just the remedy for what ails you.”
“A shotgun? Poison?”
“Homemade chicken soup.” Maggie removed the lid and put the container in the microwave.
He salivated. Couldn’t help himself. Neither could Karma. The cat jumped on the counter. Carter whisked her off into his arms.
“Can I trust that brew?” he said to Karma.
“Hey, I was tempted to mess with it, but I’m hungry.”
He felt bad. Here she was trying to be nice. “I’m sorry I was so rude at the coffeehouse. I have a bunch of excuses.”
“I’m sure. You felt miserable. I bothered you. You hated the paper, and you’re the brutally honest type.”
Maggie was New York all right.
“Correct on all four counts.”
She threw him a withering glance and handed him a box of tissues when he reached for the paper towels.
“Just being brutally honest.” Carter dabbed at his nose.
She went about searching the kitchen for bowls and spoons. He didn’t help her out ‘cause he liked watching her. Whenever she stretched, the action lifted the edge of her little pink t-shirt just enough for him to catch a teasing glimpse of flesh. He wished he could take off his sunglasses and appreciate the true color of her skin. She wore her long hair in a ponytail again with one of those colorful scrunchy things around it.
The timer went off on the microwave. She transferred the soup into two bowls and took the stool beside him. Carter put the cat on the floor.
He took up the spoon and tried the soup. Thick chunks of chicken, carrot coins, flat, wide noodles. “Man, I wish I could really taste this.” He dug in anyway.
“My mom’s recipe...” She paused, a weird sound working in her throat. “You know, if you don’t take off those dark glasses and that ridiculous wig, I’m going to die laughing and snort soup out my nose.”
Carter let his spoon clatter into the bowl. “Now who’s not being nice? I have light sensitivity and premature male pattern baldness.”
“Right. Well, better bald than—” she reached into her tote, fished around and came up with a small mirror, “—this.”
She held it out for him.
Carter looked at his reflection and felt the wig. Some kind of molting creature had curled up and died on his head. He snatched it off. His own dark hair didn’t look any better.
“Glasses?”
He shook his head.
“Okay, Nick uh, Carraday.”
“Oh, you found out my last name.” So she hadn’t recognized him. It shouldn’t have come as any surprise that she’d ask around about him. She was newspaper, paparazzi light. His head started to hurt.
“Not yet.”
Damn. Time to deflect. “So, what’s your last name again? Maggie—”
“Henderson. And that’s my real name.”
“Not married?”
“No.”
Good. “You’re from New York.”
“Yes, same as you.”
Not hard to figure that one out. “What brought you out here, Maggie?”
“The newspaper. I inherited the Moonlight Cove Gazette from my uncle a couple of months ago.”
He smiled. “You should have let me finish reading it. I might have changed my opinion.” He began eating again. His nose had cleared a bit and he savored the rich taste of the broth.
She sighed and tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear. “Not likely. It’s probably boring to outsiders. The residents love it.” Her shoulders slumped. “I think.”
Where was the spunk and spirit that forced its way through his door? He should just end this, thank her for the soup and send her on her way. If she knew his true identity, she’d splash it all over the paper. The news would go viral. He’d have to leave in a hurry. Start those five pages all over again somewhere else.
No. He loved this place. He really liked Maggie.
“Why don’t you leave me a copy? Let me read the whole thing. As an impartial outsider, I’ll give you an honest critique.”
Maggie straightened. She licked a drop of soup from her full bottom lip. Carter almost groaned out loud. Yeah, he liked Maggie too much.
“Are you sure you have enough time?” She raised a brow. A wry smile tilted one corner of her mouth.
“I’ll make time.”
She shrugged and fished in her bag again. “Here you go. This week’s edition, hot off the press.” She handed him the paper. “Now tell me, what brings you here?” She got up, collecting their empty bowls to place in the sink. He noticed the way she took in the whole room with a sweep of her sharp eyes.
“I needed to get away from work for a while. At least physically. I check in now and then.” A half-truth at best.
“What work do you do?”
He laughed. “You are nosy.”
She came back ar
ound the counter and grabbed her bag. “I call it friendly. But, to be honest, I have a purpose. I like to interview tourists. If they have an interesting story, I write about them for the paper.”
“My story isn’t interesting.”
“Okay. If you say so.” Maggie headed for the door with Karma close behind.
Carter followed. He wanted her to stay, but he was afraid she’d chip away at him one false factoid at a time until he slipped up or spilled his guts. Anyway, she suddenly seemed to be in a hurry to leave. He picked up Karma, cradling the cat in one arm.
She turned at the door. “If you change your mind, Nick Carraday, give me a call.” She pulled a business card from her pants pocket and handed it to him.
On the card the Gazette’s logo of a crescent moon over a curve of rocky coastline was—okay. A bit romance-y for his taste. He heard the door close.
“Hey, wait—”
Forget it. Let her go, Culhane.
He should have thanked Maggie for the soup. He could breathe through his nose now. Smiling, he returned to the kitchen. She forgot her container. He’d take it back to her tomorrow along with his review of the paper. Just to be nice.
He stood for a minute stroking the cat’s shiny black coat. For the first time in three days, he felt like writing. He let the ideas flow. Seemed Maggie Henderson was good for him. Heck, she might even be the muse he’d lost somewhere back in New York between killer deals.
The trick would be tapping into her energy, using the muse for as long as it took, without Maggie guessing who he was.
And without falling for her.
Chapter 3
Maggie couldn’t wait to get to the office. She was sure she knew the identity of MM, aka Nick Carraday. If she was right, this would be the biggest story in Moonlight Cove Gazette’s history. She hurried through the door. Her nose instantly closed up in self-preservation from the onslaught of paper dust in the air.
Noah straightened, hefting an armload of binders he’d picked up off the floor. His well-muscled arms strained. A varsity quarterback at the local high school, Noah was not who she expected to show up for her intern position. She thought she’d get some skinny nerd with little round glasses. Turned out Noah had a passion for journalism and a raw writing talent she was eager to nurture. Plus, he exhibited exceptional initiative.
